Prince of Troy
by Many Beautiful Things
Summary: I need no words from him to tell me I have no hope against him. No words to tell me how would rip me limb from limb to appease his fury. I need no words to tell me I am to die. The untold story of the prince of Troy and his unforgivable mistake.


Dawn rises and with her, Helios. They spread their light across the dusty plains of my homelands. The once golden soil so blessed by the gods, now thick with the lifeblood of the foolish and unlucky. The withered field strewn with lifeless figures, becoming a sea. Blood red and merciless, it hungers to drag down who so ever steps foot in its entanglement of rusted bronze and decaying bodies. I have lost so many men here and killed twice as many more. Brothers, cousins, sons, it no longer matters when caught in the whirlpool of war. The blood of my men and the blood of our enemies mingle and churn, mixing as it flows through the field as if it were the fabled River Styx. I am the boatman, leading their souls down to the house of Hades.

All of this destruction. All of this death was caused by only one, one man. No, one boy. Aristos Achaion, as he is known, 'the greatest Greek'. His hair and armour shine as golden and bright as the sun, rivaling the gods themselves. But he cannot be blamed for this war. War is his only calling, his only fate. War is his only chance to be remembered. I know he will find his end on the stained soil we stand on. I can feel it. I know I will find mine here as well, before him.

No, the King of Greece should face the blame as he has wished for this. For many a year, our destruction, our death, has been his only goal, his only prayers. Now they have been answered, but not by a god, by a boy. It is not his fault his wishes came to pass, he could not have known, the King cannot be blamed.

My brother, a crown prince of this land, a foolish and naïve boy who accepted an offer. He chose who was fit to bear the title, 'the fairest', from the three goddesses that came to him with their question.

"Which one?"

He answered with the gift of a golden apple, but he chose the prize, not the goddess. He is salacious and selfish. If only our sun god has pierced him with the gift of prophecy, he would be able to have foreseen. He could have seen how his actions would affect us, his they would affect me. My hands are now stained with blood, as is this land, never to be the same again. We have both tasted war and blood and death and we have had enough. Still, I will not leave him, until death do we part. My brother is but an unwise boy. Wisdom comes with age and he is still so young, how could he have known? He cannot be blamed.

I have suffered great loss, the death of friends, cousins and brothers haunt me, pain me. I am not the only one yet living that still suffers through grief. My head was sick with it. It weighed heavy on my mind. I let it drive me to make a grave mistake. I was in the heat of battle, my wits worn from losses endured and the harsh rays of the sun that burnt into my skin, making mush of my mind. The dust kicked up by our feverish fighting clouding my vision, creating futures out of nothing. Men shout and yell and plead as they die all around me. One voice is clear. It cuts through all the noise, it carries fury and pain and madness with it. It pierces my anguished heart. Urges me into a blind fury.

"Aristos Achaion! He is here!"

My body takes over and I run towards the speeding chariot he rides upon. Launching a spear, it catches the wheel and the chariot falls, throwing its occupants. One swing of my sword. One swift movement. That is all it takes to bring him down. The dust clears, his helmet tossed aside, surrounded by broken and cracked wood. The gold of his helmet catches the sun. It draws my eye to the earth that mixes with the blood that pools into a trail. My eyes follow eagerly, finding where it stems from. The boy struggles. Holding his stomach with one hand and with the other he drags himself away from me. I watch cruelly for a moment. He writhes and his breath catches in his throat, he stops. His body falls limp. Colour and light fading from him along with what remains of his life. A heavy weight presses over my heart, my stomach sinking. The boy's armour was as golden as the sun, rivaling the gods themselves. Everything about him was golden, but his hair. An Achaean soldier stands beside me, he knows who this boy is.

"This is not Aristos Achaion."

It is too late, the red sea has dragged him to its depths, stealing him from the living. Never to be found. Never to be remembered.

Murder, something that inflicts more pain on those you leave behind, it is something that is impossible to forget. I can never forgive myself. Even so, I cannot be blamed. I did not ask to be turned into a barbaric beast, only hungry for blood, like the sea that haunts us. And yet, I let myself be corrupted by this godforsaken war.

My face hits the earth with a shattering thud, I choke for a breath. The cracked ground pressed flush against my face. It burns my skin. I spit up blood and watch as it mixes with the dirty earth, coughing as I regain my senses. I lift my head, heavy with a dizzying haze. The air tastes of chalk and iron. Dust coats my throat and sticks in thick layers to the blood already there. I use the back of my hand to wipe my mouth, pushing myself up again.

I fumble and sway, feeling for the familiar weight of my sword in my palms desperate grasp. Regaining my balance I stand to face my opponent. Aristos Achaion. I struggle to believe how I ever mistook the boy for him. He radiates a furious heat, the sun's rays seeming cold next to him. A chill runs through my spine as I look around. Thick blood, beside my feet and on my thigh, on my hand and my breast, on my sword. His feet shuffle, I snap my gaze up and fix my eyes upon him. Squinting, I notice he strides towards me with great speed. Thick blood, on his breast and sword. It does not spill from wounds as does the thick blood on me, the blood on him is mine. He takes off his helmet, throwing it aside into the sun. The same armour the boy adorned. He speaks bitterly.

"Now there will be no mistaking who you are fighting."

I shudder. His eyes threaten me. His face free from the restrictions of his helmet bears all of his emotions. This is what I have done to him. I have caused him to eat his heart out. Now I fear he will eat mine. The act an attempt to soothe his inconsolable craving for revenge.

A word, spoken with discourse and cruelty. A name, spoken like a clap of thunder louder than the sound of our shields, then swords, clashing against each other. My name, spoken in such a way it makes the imminent sting of his sword and the abyss of the red sea seem a less foreboding fate. His eyes burn into mine as we press against each other. Deadlocked. Only a barrier of bronze and leather between us.

I need no words from him to tell me I have no hope against him. No words to tell me how would rip me limb from limb to appease his fury. I need no words to tell me I am to die. I need no words to tell me I have done this to him, driven him and with sickening grief. The memories of my hands robbing life from the boy's breast, turning into fuel for Aristos Achaion's furious fire. I have turned him to vengeance and hatred, removing him from the words he used to speak.

"What has Hector ever done to me?"

I have ruined him. He is no longer a boy. I plead.

"For my wife, my son, myself..."

His sword finds its way smoothly to mine. Light catches and blinds who so ever on looks, making a crack of lightening look dull. I pull back and our swords clash. I am thrown by his words alone.

"There are no pacts between lions and men."

I look up at the great walls of Troy. They crumble and heave and seem to weep for me. His sword at my neck, reflecting my face, covered in blood and dusty and stained by streaks of tears. A pitiful sight. Hector, a prince of Troy, on his knees. He shifts the blade, cocking his wrist so it presses flush against the fragile skin of my throat, he lifts his sword back. He is no longer a boy. A lion, feral and unrelenting. His silhouette blocks the sun, the breeze from his heavy swing starts to push against me. A cry of agony is all I hear before I feel my cheek hit the earth again. My body follows. It is cold. I cannot tell whether he is still here, shading my body with his shadow or if the sun has forsaken me. Disappointed in my actions. Another victim to the red sea, to be taken to its depths.

I have fallen. Dragged away. Not by the red sea, but by Aristos Achaion. He parades my body, mutilating me shamefully. Even after my death. He does not burn my body. I cannot rest. Leaving my name to be erased. Forgotten. Foreshadowing the fate of my homelands. I know that now, this was always my destruction. This was always my death. It is clear to me now, I am to be blamed and so is my brother and so is Aristos Achaion.

We are all to blame.


End file.
